4 Massachusetts Audubon Society 



MR. AND MRS. FEARLESS 



Yes, I feel that I know Mr. and Mrs. Fearless extremely well, for 

 although I have not eaten a pinch of salt with them, I am sure I have fed 

 them more than one peck of hemp seed and doughnuts. They have been 

 my nearest summer neighbors for over three years. Their house is within 

 fifteen feet of ours, "The Katy Did." We are bounded in front by the ocean, 

 on the other three sides by a grove of spruce trees. The Fearless house is a 

 small gray one of rather a severe style of architecture designed by Mr. 

 Packard, but it evidently pleases them in every detail. At the door, which is 

 always open, there is simply one step. Upon this Mrs. Fearless generally 

 stops, and after looking anxiously round, quickly disappears within. It was 

 first placed on a living tree, about twenty-five feet from the ground. 



When I arrived, I was greatly disappointed that it was not occupied, and 

 at once moved it to a pole eight feet high. Food having been on my feeding 

 station all winter and spring, I had many mealers — hermit and olive-backed 

 thrushes, myrtle, magnolia and parula warblers, juncos, song, chipping and 

 white-throated sparrows, robins, an occasional flicker, and the chickadee, who 

 were soon eating from my hand as they had done the previous fall. 



They generally take two or three seeds in their bills, and, flying to a 

 nearby branch, tuck two of them under the moss, and then, holding one 

 seed between their tiny feet, peck at it until the kernel is reached. It is a 

 never-failing pleasure for me to see them eat the seeds, always with the 

 greatest gusto, just as if a child had a box of his or her special brand of 

 Page and Shaw. They frequently drop seeds. Sometimes they fly down 

 and rescue them, but oftener they do not bother their dear little black and 

 white heads about them. 



When the chickadees see me in the woods, they fly to me at once to be 

 fed, most of them zigzagging timidly from bush to bush until they reach 

 my hand. But Mrs. Fearless always comes as straight as she can fly. For 

 this I gave her the name. About six o'clock one morning I saw Mrs. Fearless 

 gathering moss from a rock, and when she flew into the house I had placed 

 for her, I was weak with holding my breath and pleasure. I soon heard the 

 tap-tap-tapping as she was pressing the moss tightly against the bottom of 

 her selected home. She worked on the nest only in the morning. 



Soon she was sitting — and then — both Mr. and Mrs. were feeding. I 

 never look at the family until I know it is about time for them to leave the 

 nest. Then I raise the whole roof of the house (made for this purpose), 

 and behold a most beautiful sight. The five mites of birds are on the edge 

 of the nest with their heads pointing out like a large rosette. Their feathers 

 are a clear black and white, exquisitely soft of texture. When they leave 

 the house they are well able to fly, and all disappear, but in about a week 

 I hear the familiar chick-a-dee-dee-dee, and I am happy that my pets have 

 returned. The babies are soon eating at the station, and bathing in one of my 

 five pools, all of diff"erent depths and surroundings. I have had four babies 

 on my hands at one time, coming for doughnuts, of which all birds seem 

 very fond. When knitting I place the food on my hat, so as not to break in 

 on the "purl" and "plain.^" 



In the fall of 1917, thinking our place large enough for more than one 

 family of chickadees, I put up a second house, out of sight of the first. At 

 this time I also banded Mr. Fearless. But evidently chickadees do not believe 

 in community life, for when I returned last June, I saw that Mrs. Fearless 

 had taken possession of the new house and had not allowed any of her oflf- 

 spring to occupy the abandoned one. I soon heard the four sweet notes, the 



